Before today's Message, here's advance notice of the January date for the launch of the Your Messages anthology. We'll get in touch with all selected authors by 15th December.
Meet the Authors
of Bluechrome’s collaborative classic
Lynne Rees & Sarah Salway
7pm on Thursday 31st January 2008
The Poetry Café, Betterton Street, Covent Garden
London WC2H 9BX
and celebrate the launch of
an anthology of original writing
selected from thousands of responses.
Lynne and Sarah will talk about their collaboration
and introduce the authors selected for the Your Messages anthology.
And here's today's Message for you. Click on Comments to respond:
It was never like the movie.
Okay, I was sixteen going on seventeen, and I did have a crush on a blonde Hitler youth, but that was the closest it got. The only music in the hills was the goats, and as for us, we hated the sight of each other, couldn’t bear to be in the same room for more time than it took to eat breakfast. They were right about Father (at the beginning), he did have a whistle and used to blow the fucking thing every morning at eight, expecting us to march downstairs and take our allocated places at the table.
The first time I ignored him he stamped upstairs looking for me, dragged the bed covers off then stopped when he saw I was naked. I knew I had some power as soon as I saw his face – his lips quivering and the eiderdown limp in his hands.
‘What?’ I snapped at him, making no attempt to cover my breasts, and I smiled.
He walked out of the room. ‘You’re just like your mother,’ he spat at the door.
He was probably right. She’d been dead for three years, and that’s pretty much how I felt.
The Baroness was a joke. A pathetic simpering twit. And the stuff about all the other governesses was fiction. Father couldn’t bear to have outsiders living in the house but he had to compromise when he was called away for a few months. That’s when Maria came. I can imagine her face if I told her the story about the curtains – she’d have looked up over her black coffee and cigarette, wrinkled her face into disbelief, and screeched with laughter.
It was like this: Father was a Nazi, the nuns betrayed Maria. All I want to do is forget.